“That ceased to count for much years ago, Philip.” Tom's voice chilled me, devoid of fraternal affection.
Aubrey interjected, “I don't think any accusations should be leveled at my cousin without an attorney present. Philip, let's get a lawyer here if you're going to be questioned by the police.”
Philip didn't take Aubrey's advice as support. His appeals crescendoed in anger and fear as he jumped to his feet. “I don't need any damned lawyer. Because I didn't do it, and there's no evidence to support a claim that I killed Lolly, or tried to kill anybody.”
I forced myself to speak again, dread making an accommodation in my heart. I was playing every trump card I had, and I wasn't even sure of the game. I wanted to whisk Bob Don out of the study, squire him away to a private room, and shake the truth out of him about whatever demons haunted this family. Instead I forged ahead, exposing the fractures in our family tree. “Philip. I heard you and Wendy talking. Out at the cemetery.”
The quiet in the room was as dense as the quiet of those tombs. Philip glared at me with a shining light of pure hatred. It shone for one sickening moment, then he safely eclipsed it by closing his eyes. Wendy stood from where she'd squatted by the grieving Mutt, an insensate lump to the arguments raging around him.
“I don't know what you're talking about,” Wendy said flatly.
“I went for a hike. I was by the crypts when y'all came down there and had a little confab. About getting hold of some of Uncle Mutt's money.”
Wendy laid a possessive hand on Mutt's crown of gray hair. He seemed to hear my words, but he hadn't yet formed a reply to them, looking at me slack-jawed.
“I still don't know what you're talking about, Jordan,” Wendy said.
“I don't talk to Wendy but to say hello and ask what's for supper,” Philip offered, after a quick sidelong glance at his partner in crime. “Why the hell would I be jawing with her out in a goddamned cemetery?”
“So no one would hear or see you,” I replied, determined not to let them evade me.
Wendy shook her head. She reminded me of a chessboard's queen, idly glancing down at a helpless pawn. “Your facility for lying is amazing. But since none of us know you, I don't suppose we should be surprised.”
“Know me? What does anyone know about you, Wendy?” I countered.
My challenge didn't faze her. “Perhaps you'd explain to Lieutenant Mendez and Judge Yarbrough why you were sneaking around Lolly's bedroom this morning.”
She was right about my facility for lying. “I suspected Lolly might be sending me the hate mail. I wanted to find some evidence to support my theory.” The fib slid out of my mouth with surprising smoothness. I closed my mouth before I could elaborate further on my falsehood. I didn't glance at Deborah. Or at Bob Don, who Wendy claimed to have spotted as he exited from prowling the room while I hid in the closet. Until I knew why Bob Don was in that room-what secret did he have? I could hardly ask him about it in this room full of accusing faces.
“And just why did you suspect Lolly?” Wendy continued. Her hand played insolently in the gray of Mutt's hair, like she was stroking a pet. Mutt watched me with stony eyes.
Great. My mind fumbled for an answer.
“Well, I saw how hateful she was to several of you at the dinner when she died-” I began, but then an unexpected ally leaped to my defense.
“I asked Jordan to go into Lolly's room,” Gretchen said, standing on shaky feet, her eyes crimson rings in her face.
“Well, it speaks,” Philip muttered. “Who uncorked the bottle?” Real venom stained his voice.
“Philip, shut up and sit down,” Mutt ordered. Some of the regular steel was back in his tone. Philip attempted a brief scowl but sank onto the ottoman by Uncle Jake. I glanced at Bob Don, who glowered at Philip with undisguised loathing.
“I didn't know then Lolly had been sending those hateful scribblings to Jordan. But after she died, I was so upset, and I wanted a keepsake of Lolly's. I asked Jordan to fetch it for me. It was then that he found the other card that Lolly intended to send him.” Gretchen smiled winningly at Lieutenant Mendez. I had practically forgotten he was in the room. “He didn't tell me about it until this afternoon.”
“What keepsake did you want?” Mutt asked. “I don't like the idea of someone pawing through my poor dead sister's belongings…”
Gretchen raised her hands in mock supplication. “I know, Mutt, I know it's tacky of me. But Lolly told me once she'd kept the wedding photos of my first husband Paul and me, and I wanted them back. I asked Jordan to look for them.”
“Why didn't you fetch the photos yourself?” This, surprisingly, from Deborah. She looked scared to death, her hands folded tightly against her chest, as though ready to shiver in the July heat.
“Probably too fucking drunk to do it herself,” Philip said, and Bob Don launched himself off the couch. I hadn't known he could move quite so fast. For a big man he bolted like lightning. He seized Philip's already much-handled shirt in his hands and shoved his cousin over the ottoman. Philip went down like a fallen oak, splaying out at Uncle Jake's feet and cane.
“Mr. Goertz!” Lieutenant Mendez shouted, pulling Bob Don back. I reached for Bob Don's arm, but he flinched violently away from my touch. I slowly lowered my hand, feeling Aunt Sass's eyes mock me.
“You did it, you spiked her drink. Goddamn scheming punk!” Bob Don pointed down at Philip, who was trying ineffectually to scramble to his feet. Finally Tom assisted him.
“Great,” Philip snapped. “Now you're blaming me for Gretchen's binges.” He glared at the assemblage. “She's hit the sauce again. Dead drunk this afternoon, and Bob Don and Jordan and Sass and Candace would just as soon we all not know.”
“My soda was spiked.” Gretchen leaned against Sass and Sass put a protective arm around her. “I didn't intend to drink.”
“Aunt Gretchen, you should probably avoid confrontation right now. Let's you and I go discuss your relapse,” Aubrey offered, but no one paid him any heed.
“Crooning the same old tired song of the boozer, Aunt Gretchen,” Philip taunted, undaunted by Bob Don's anger.
“Philip. Use your brain,” Gretchen said, her tone eerily calm. “If Lolly was poisoned, someone slipped it into her food or drink. Someone basically tried to poison me the same way. Except with alcohol.”
Silence cocooned the room as the family weighed the implication. I wanted to sink down onto the couch-my head throbbed with tension-but my feet felt coated in concrete.
Gretchen turned to Mendez, a half smile lighting her face. Her lips trembled. “We're not a very nice family, Lieutenant, full of shiftless bums, mean old men, crazy women, and my first husband was a murderer. So where you gonna start?”
16
We'd each been banished to our rooms as Lieutenant Mendez and Judge Yarbrough continued their investigation and interviews. I could only imagine what game plan their minds had concocted after hearing such poisonous talk. Accusations, counteraccusations, slander, grief, hatred-we all needed to be flown to the nearest tabloid talk show and unleashed on the audience. They wouldn't know what the hell hit them. Or perhaps we could become sponsors for a lozenge company as we screamed our throats raw at each other.
At least Mendez had seen fit to begin his interrogations with Philip, everyone's most likely suspect. I stood against the window, watching the sun begin its decline toward the sea. Clouds surged above the ocean, as dark and foreboding as the fear in my heart. It was as if the weather reflected our moods. The light no longer dappled the waves; the air smelled sour with the rank odors of the sea. The sky, so unsullied earlier, had shrouded itself with heavy black thun-derheads. Rumbles, growing closer, made the wood beneath my feet shiver. If you don't like the weather in Texas- especially on the coast-wait five minutes, because it's sure to change. The Gulf is a cauldron for sudden, harsh storms. I watched as a flurry of boats hurried toward Port Lavaca and Port O'Connor.
The smudge that marked land's end, across Matagorda Bay, beckoned. I wanted to leave and I could not. Yarbrough had declared a quarantine on travel and none of us were daring to break it. Her words had made it clear that while no one was getting their Miranda rights read, no one was above suspicion. And what would flight suggest aside from guilt? Anyone who knew truth in this sordid matter would do well to come forward and not hide it. I
